Two Chapters from The Eleventh Orphan by Joan Lingard

Their first job was delivering sacks of potatoes, carrots and parsnips, strings of onions, cartons of cabbages and cauliflowers for a greengrocer. The man in the long brown apron sorting them out also remarked on Elfie’s strength, or lack of it.

‘She’s a right skinny one,’ he said, eyeing her dubiously. ‘She’ll never push a cart.’

‘She’s coming with me,’ said Joe.

Elfie helped load up the carts. The stuff was heavy but she struggled on with it, staggering under the weight of the potato sacks and relieved when she managed to dump one into the cart. When it was piled high they set off, with Joe gripping the handles. At the corner they parted from Billy, who was going in a different direction.

After that, they had orders to deliver for an ironmonger and then a builder’s yard.

Elfie felt dog-tired by the time they headed home but she wasn’t going to admit to it to anyone.

Florrie signalled to her when they came in.

‘My friend Pam knows where Happy Land is. She’s never actually been there herself but she says it’s at King’s Cross, not too far from the station.’

‘You’re not really thinking of going, are you?’ said Joe, looking at Elfie.

She shrugged.

Florrie gave Elfie the ticket back, then she said, ‘I’ve been thinking about your roses and violets card and I can’t help wondering if Alfred might have picked it because your mum’s name was either Rose or Violet.’

After supper Elfie put the idea to Pa.

‘We’ve had a number of Roses and Violets over the years, have we not, Ma? ‘ he said. ‘Let us go upstairs and take a look in our admissions register.’

Ma asked Mabel to keep an eye on the little ones and went with Pa and Elfie.

Pa took a book with stiff, marbled covers out of a cupboard and laid it on his desk. Inside, page after page was filled with his beautiful copperplate writing.

‘We keep a full record of every orphan that comes to us, Elfie, with details of how they arrived, and with whom, if anyone. Also, the date when they leave, and where they go. Look, on this last page, is your record! You are the latest addition.’ Pa read it to her: ‘Elfrieda, usually known as Elfie, arrived 1st January, 1900, accompanied by P.C.O’Dowd.’

Elfie felt funny hearing that read out.

‘Turn back to the beginning, Pa,’ said Ma.

The first orphan recorded was Mary Anne Magee, who’d been admitted to the Pig and Whistle on the tenth of April, 1870, aged four years, of Irish parentage.

‘That’s how we come to start,’ said Ma. ‘She was the daughter of an ould friend of mine from Cork. And the very next day didn’t Pa come across a poor wee lad crying his heart out in the street with nowhere to go so we took him in and all.’

‘Mary Anne is a married woman in her thirties now,’ said Pa.

‘Indeed she is,’ added Ma. ‘With four darlin’ babbies. She comes to see us every now and then.’

Pa was running his finger down the lists. He stopped.

‘Now here is a Rose. Rose Watkins.’

‘Can’t be her,’ said Ma. ‘She’s living up north. She sent us a card last Christmas.’

‘I’ve found a Violet. No surname recorded. 1874, aged 7.’

Ma took a squint at the book.

‘That’s Vi with the flaming red hair. She’s got a good position as a housekeeper in a big house in York. We heard from her too at Christmas.’

Pa continued to scan the pages. ‘What about Violet Drummond?’

Ma frowned. ‘We haven’t had any word from her in many a long year Funny, I was just thinking of her the other day and wondering how she was doing.’

‘I see that she came to us in 1880, aged ten, brought by her mother, who was ailing and couldn’t look after her. The father had died in a mine accident up in Scotland.’

‘Scotland,’ repeated Ma. ‘Didn’t you have a thistle brooch in your bag, luv? When I saw it I thought it looked Scottish.’

Elfie found it.

‘Well, Violet could be a possibility.’ Pa sounded dubious. ‘We have no real evidence to go on, however.’

‘She was fond of us,’ said Ma. ‘She always used to come by and see how we were doing. It’s not like her, not to have stayed in touch.’

‘That’s true,’ said Pa slowly.

Elfie was holding her breath, afraid to speak, afraid almost to breathe. Her mum might have been called Violet! She’d hated having a mum without a name. It was if she had never existed.

‘Elfie was born in 1888,’ said Pa, ‘so at that point Violet Drummond would have been eighteen.’

‘The only thing,’ said Ma, ‘is that Elfie doesn’t look a mortal bit like her.’

‘What was she like?’ asked Elfie.

‘She was a real beauty, wasn’t she, Pa, with peachy skin and blond wavy hair? And she had a lovely nature to match. Never a harsh word for anyone. Never lost her rag. An angel, if ever there was one.’

Elfie folded her arms and scowled at the card. All right, so sometimes she might get a bit worked up. That’s what Ma was hinting at, wasn’t she? That she didn’t have a sweet nature and she was no angel.

‘But, of course, Elfie could take after her father,’ said Pa. ‘We must remember that. So we cannot rule Violet Drummond out.’

Screams erupted from down below, followed by shouts, and then more screams. Cuddles, who had a loud voice for his young age, could be heard above all the others. He was good at getting his own way.

‘Lord save us!’ cried Ma and she went hurrying off down the stairs to see what was going on.

‘Well, I think that is as far as we can get just now, Elfie,’ said Pa. ‘We have unearthed a few possibilities at least. This is akin to a jigsaw. We have to put together all the pieces we can find in the hope of building up a complete picture in the end.’

Elfie replaced the brooch in her bag, along with the card.

Tomorrow, after they’d done their rounds, she was going to ask Joe to help her find Happy Land. There might be somebody at the dancehall who’d remember Violet Drummond. It was worth a try. Anything was. She wasn’t going to just sit here and do nothing while letters trailed to and fro across the Atlantic Ocean.

‘Why should you get to go out with the boys?’ demanded Ivy. ‘I ‘ate sewing on buttons and I ‘ate Mis Primpton.’

‘But you’re good at sewing,’ said Elfie, trying to keep a straight face.

‘It ain't fair. I’m going to ask Ma if we can swap today.’

‘But I can’t do buttons!’ said Elfie, getting heated now. She’d got to go out with the boys. She needed Joe to help her find Happy Land. And she was blowed if she was going to go back to that mangy old shirt factory and that horror who rapped you on the shoulder with a thimble every time she went by.

‘Time you learned then, ain't it?’ said Ivy and she marched off to the kitchen to look for Ma. Elfie followed in her wake, ready to fight her corner.

Ma stood firm. She was sorry, for she knew the shirt factory was not a particularly nice place, but Ivy would have to go with Mabel. They all had to earn something towards their keep.

‘What’s she doing?’ Ivy whipped round to face Elfie.

‘She’s delivering. It’s hard work humpin’ stuff about.’

‘I bet the boys do it for her.’

‘No, they don’t!’ cried Elfie.

‘Joe tells me she does her bit,’ said Ma.

‘Joe always takes her side.’

‘I think we’ve had enough of this conversation, Ivy,’ said Ma. ‘I am trying to get you and Mabel a position in a smaller sewing workroom where Mrs Mullins, the woman in charge, is very pleasant. You would be sewing lace on pillow cases.’

Ivy looked slightly mollified though she was obviously still in the huff and she gave Elfie a dirty look when she and Mabel set out for the shirt factory after lunch.

Elfie skipped along the street beside Joe and Billy. Their work was much the same as the day before. Elfie toiled on, determined that no one would be able to say she wasn't doing her share.

After the first delivery she and Joe rested for a few minutes in the shelter of a doorway. It was raining again.

Elfie had her chance now to speak to Joe on his own.

‘Would you go with me to help find Happy Land?’

‘It’s a long way. Didn’t Florrie say it was near Kings Cross?’

‘Billy might want to go and see the trains. He says it’s easy to get a lift on a cart.’

‘I don’t know what good it’d do, Elfie.’

‘I want to ask them if they’d ever knew Violet Drummond.’

‘Known,’ said Joe. ‘The place might not be open in the afternoon.’

‘I just want to see it,’ she said stubbornly. Surely this must be the place where her parents had met! ‘Just to see it,’ she pleaded. ‘Please, Joe!’

‘Well, I dunno. It’d take a couple of hours for us to go there and back.’

‘We could hurry up with the deliveries. I’ll work extra hard. Please, please, please. Else I’ll go on my own.’

‘You can’t do that.’

‘I will, if you don’t come.’

‘That’s blackmail.’ He sighed. ‘We’ll have to see how we get on.’

They had several more runs to do for a grocer and a short one for a chemist. Elfie kept her promise and worked hard, lugging the packages about, not complaining and managed to drop only one, which left but a small dent on the package.

‘That seems to be it,’ said Joe finally.

.‘Can we go?’

‘I suppose so. I don’t want you going all that way on your own.’

Elfie had often been much further on her own but she didn’t tell him that.

They’d arranged to meet up with Billy on a corner. He was already waiting for them, kicking an old tin can along the gutter.

He was not averse to the idea of going to King’s Cross and he was pretty sure he could get them a lift on a cart along with himself. He knew one or two carters who went up and down that way regularly and were always willing to oblige.

They only had to wait a few minutes before a cart rumbled into sight. It was carrying firewood. Billy spoke to the driver.

‘If you can find a space in the back jump in!’ he said.

It was a jolting ride sitting perched on top of sticks of wood. They had to hang on to the sides of the cart. On one corner Elfie would have gone flying off if Joe hadn’t grabbed her.

The carter dropped them off half a mile or so before the station. They thanked him and set off to cover the last part on foot. The rain by now had eased. Billy left them for he knew a short cut that would take him into the back of the station.

‘Ta-ta then,’ he said and went off whistling.

Elfie trotted alongside Joe, who walked with long strides. He was a tall boy, with strong limbs. Davy, one of the brewery drivers, had said Joe could be a boxer, he had the build for it, but Pa Bigsby said he didn’t want any of his lads to go into the fighting game. He claimed it ruined their brains, getting their heads bashed about like that.

When they reached King’s Cross they stopped. Now where? Roads ran off in all directions. They wandered about until they saw a policeman.

‘Happy Land Ballroom?’ said the constable. ‘Won’t be open at this time of day.’

‘Don’t matter,’ said Elfie. ‘We just want to see it.’

The policeman pointed along Euston Road and said it was in a side street. He couldn’t remember which one exactly but it had a sign hanging out.

They hastened along the road, pausing at every corner to look along the side street, and when Elfie was beginning to think they’d never find the place they saw a sign swaying in the wind.

‘What does it say?’ she asked.

‘Happy Land Ballroom!’ said Joe.

Elfie cheered and broke into a run.

Up close they saw that the sign was decorated with fading pink and blue balloons. It was in need of a lick of paint, as was the door, which was closed and barred. Not a glimmer of light showed anywhere. The ballroom seemed dead.

‘The copper was right,’ said Joe. ‘I expect people only go dancing at night.’

‘Florrie says some places have tea dances in the afternoon.’

This was obviously not one of them. It looked as if nothing at all ever went on here now. Joe thought the dancehall might have gone out of business.

Elfie banged on the door but there was no response from inside. She marched up and down the pavement, frowning, not ready to give up yet, especially after coming all this way. She went round the alley at the back. Joe followed. The lane was empty except for three rusty old dustbins. One was overturned. A rat emerged and scuttled out of their way.

Elfie stopped in front of a door which was as scabby as the one at the front. She tried the handle. ‘It’s locked!’ She beat a loud tattoo on it, using both fists.

‘It’s getting dark.’ Joe glanced up at the sky. ‘We should be getting home.’

The door opened suddenly, and a big, burly man with a thick beard, appeared on the step. His sleeves were rolled up to show heavily tattooed forearms and bulging muscles. His hands were huge and hairy.

‘What the devil are you two up to? Thinkin’ of breakin’ and enterin’, was you? Well, I wouldn’t recommend it.’ He showed them his fist.

‘What are those tattoos?’ asked Elfie, squinting to get a better look.

He was taken aback. He looked down at his arms. ‘They’re mermaids, if you’re wantin’ to know. What’s it to you?’

‘Just wonderin’. Have you ever seen a mermaid?’

‘Seen a mermaid?’

Elfie nodded.

.‘You’re a right funny one.’

‘Have you?’

‘Well ... ‘ He scratched his head and Elfie wondered if he had nits, too, like Mr Ramsbottom. She was hoping the inspector’s scrappy wee beard might be infested with them and that they’d drive him nuts so that he wouldn’t be able to write his report. ‘I ain't sure as to whether they’re real or not.’ The man sounded bewildered.

‘They’re real on your arms.’

‘I suppose they are, in a manner of speaking. Hey, what are you two doin’ hangin’ about here?’

‘Do you work here?’ asked Elfie.

‘I’m the caretaker. I see troublemakers off the premises. So I’d advise you to scarper, the pair of you, right now, afore I call the coppers!’

‘I was just wantin’ to ask you somethin’. Have you been here for a very long time?’

‘Right nosy parker, ain't you? What are you wantin’ to know fer?’

‘It’s important. Cross my heart and hope to die, it is. I ain't lying, am I, Joe?’

‘For your information,’ said the caretaker, ‘I have bin here fifteen year. We run a good establishment. We don’t allow no riff-raff in. I’ve only ever had to call the police out couple o’ times.’

‘I think me mum,’ began Elfie, and paused to take a deep breath before continuing, ‘me mum used to come here, a long time ago.’

‘A lot of ladies have come ‘ere over the years. Can’t remember them all.’

‘Her name was Violet Drummond and she had beautiful blond hair.’

‘Violet, eh?’ He looked startled. ‘I remember a Violet with blond hair. Golden, it was. She worked here, must be twelve, thirteen years ago.’

Elfie was excited. ‘That could be right.’

‘Right pretty girl she was. Very popular, she had such a sweet nature.’

‘What did she do? Did she dance?’

‘She checked in hats and coats. Cloakroom attendant. That was when the ballroom were in its heyday.’ He sounded wistful. ‘Gone down a bit in recent times. Haven’t seen Violet in many a year. How’s she doin’?’

‘She’s dead.’

‘Dead? I’m right sorry to ‘ear that. I liked her.’ He spoke fondly and Elfie suddenly wondered if he’d been in love with her mother.

‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

‘What’s it to you?’

‘It’s not Alfred, is it?’

‘No, it ain’t.’

‘Thank goodness,’ thought Elfie.

‘Can you tell us anything else about Violet?’ put in Joe. ‘Where she lived?’

The man shook his head.

‘D’you know if she had a special friend?’ asked Elfie. ‘A man friend?’

‘Not to my knowledge. Never knew of ‘er havin’ any men friends. She weren’t like some of the girls, flirting all the time. She were more private. Kept herself to herself, though she were nice to everybody.’

‘Why did she leave?’ asked Joe.

‘She weren’t strong. She’d a weak chest, used to cough a lot. I sometimes wondered if it were TB. That’s all I can tell you.’

‘Ta, anyway,’ said Elfie.

‘You don’t look anythin’ like ‘er,’ said Happy Land’s caretaker, before closing the door.

‘Huh!’ Elfie scowled. Why couldn’t she have blond hair and be beautiful?

‘I’m wondering why she kept that special admission ticket,’ said Joe. ‘She wouldn’t need one herself to get in.’

‘It could’ve belonged to my dad?’

‘It could. But it doesn’t really help us find him.’ Joe seized Elfie’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s go! I might have enough money for us to go part of the way by bus.’

Daylight was ebbing fast, the lamps were flickering into life. This was Elfie’s favourite time of day to be out, when the shadowy streets became mysterious, even magical. You never knew what might happen. Your pa might come strolling along the street swinging a silver-topped cane like Pa Bigsby’s and he would come right up to her and say, ‘You must be my girl Elfrieda. I’d have knowed you anywhere.’

They smelt hot chestnuts, and their mouths watered. There was a stand on the corner. The man was shouting, ‘Hot chestnuts! Get your hot chestnuts here!’

Joe pulled a few small coins out of his pocket and studied them. ‘I could buy us a poke. Would you like that?’

‘Oh, I would!’ cried Elfie.

The chestnuts were hot! They laughed at each other as they shuttled them about in their mouths, until they were cool enough to swallow. They were so immersed in the chestnuts that when they rounded the corner they were not looking ahead.

They ran slap into a band of kids bunched up on the pavement.

‘Gie us a chestnut then!’ shouted one of the boys and before Joe could stop him he had snatched the bag out of his hand and, throwing his head back, tossed a couple into his mouth.

‘Thief!’ screamed Elfie.

‘My Gawd,’ bellowed another boy, ‘it’s our Elf!’

Elf! The cry went up.

‘Do you know them?’ asked Joe.

Elfie nodded. ‘Fraid so.’

They had no chance to escape. In a flash they were surrounded by a whirling, grinning, cackling band. Their faces looked wild in the lamplight.

‘Who’s that you got wi’ you? Hey, darkie, is that black boot polish you got on yer mug?’

‘You shut up, Froggy!’ snapped Elfie. ‘He’s my friend and his name is Joe.’

‘What colour blood you got, Joe? Black? Black as tar? Sticky too. Maybe we oughter find out?’